Archive for the ‘humor’ Category

Our fearless reporter, Boo Feeder, found himself in the belly of the beast this morning on a hunch that The Washington Post was at it again. Boo knows the smell of a rat and that stench was about to knock him over when the door opened to the men’s room. It wasn’t lingering gas from the bowels of the newspaper that violated Feeder’s olfactory, it was the presence of the company itself squeezing its way into the tiled and teak rest room then ran into stall number thirteen. Boo took advantage of the situation to ask The Post some questions about its’ most recent slanderous goings on.

” Post? Can you tell me the source of your claims again Judge Roy Moore? How did you confirm those four decades old allegations?”

“Times? That you?” Came the bellowing voice of Post from the stall reserved for the handicapped. “Times, you SOB! Come in here asking stupid-ass questions like that. Confirm schmofirm! You’re just pissed that we got the scoop. Go back to southeast where you come from, loser!” With that a loud RiiiiiiiiP! belched out followed by a funk from the pits of hell.

Holding my nostrils tight together, I replied “No. This is not The Washington Times. I am Boo Feeder and I was just wondering how you were able to verify the stories you printed alleging Judge Roy Moore had relations with underage girls nearly forty years ago. You certainly double and triple checked facts. I’m wondering how you were able to do that when there were no police reports found to back up the stories.”

“Rachel? That you girl? Oh, sheeee-it no! You that Boo Feeder freefrickinlancer with the cat? Yeah! I know you. Dang, I thought you was a guy! Hey! That thing you wrote on Donna Brazile was damn good. Funny shit that!” This was followed by another Riiiiiiiippppppppp!

Oh good Lord, what am I doing here? To exit the sewage pit, I got right to the point. ” I am most definitely a guy, Post. Holding my nose shut makes me sound like Rachel Mad…” Why waste time with that? I continued with “you claimed that Judge Moore had inappropriate relations with four girls thirty eight years ago. I personally checked on those accusers and, to no surprise, one was a former employee of Hillary Clinton and the others have an unquestioned loyalty to the Democrat party. To further muddy their reputations, all four of their finances have improved drastically in the past couple months. New cars, new homes, vacations to Hawaii. It’s as if they all hit the lottery! And in a way, they did, didn’t they Post? Before you answer, I remember a story by your own Bob Woodward that laid claim that local contractors were all colluding to raise bids and to keep outsiders away. When it was learned that the Post was basing the story on one very incompetent man who was mad because he felt entitled to get the work without bidding, the Post never retracted. Nope. The Post led a grand jury on a fairy dust trail until time took away the public’s interest and millions of their dollars. That’s just one example of how the Post has printed fake news to fit their agenda. There are plenty more, dear Post!”

“Big freaking deal! So what? You know how many papers we sell when we make up the news? And advertising! General Electric, Starbucks, Democrat candidates and the list goes on! When a blockbuster headline comes knocking on the door, why lose time verifying it? You just don’t get it do you Feeler? That’s why you’ll never be a” then a roll of toilet paper came unraveling under the stall’s door. ” Hey Rachel! Kick that back in here, will ya? Come on girl! I got to clean up this mess on me! Damn! GET WITH IT BITCH! The paper, the paper. NOW!”

“Post, why don’t you use your newspaper? There’s no difference between used toilet paper and The Post. Besides, think of all the ads you can print on your filthy ass? I’m sure Northam, Schumer, Pelosi, Clintons and Soros will be happy to cover you with dollar bills to clean up with!” I said with a sarcasm not to be proud of.

Post came storming out of stall bare assed and stinking to low hells. Grabbing for the toilet paper that I “accidentally” kicked out into the hallway, Post fell down and rolled into a throng of onlookers. They gasped in horror as their beloved media giant laid naked in its own waste. One gray haired man said “Oh boy. The old SOB might be down for the count.”

Donna Brazile, a long time Democratic strategist and mouthpiece for everything liberal, has stepped all over her former hero, Hillary Clinton. In her book, Hacks, the 57 year old woman who has been described as “openly lesbian”, laid the equivalent of tar and feathers over the former Secretary of State for rigging the 2016 presidential election. In her book, Ms. Brazile exposed the failures in the DNC that made Donald Trump the 45th president of the United States. To a point, Brazile outed Clinton as the one who rigged the nomination in a way that she, and only she, would be the Democrat Party nominee then go on to a certain victory in November 2016.

We all know how that went.

Lucky for his fans and followers, Boo Feeder was walking past a Starbucks when he saw Donna Brazile at a table. She was there for a book signing with stacks of Hacks but no customers so Boo bolted in to seize the opportunity.

” Miss Brazile! Hope you don’t mind if I ask a couple questions this morning. ” I screeched one of those noisy metal chairs over to her table and sat down before she could say no.

” Who the hell you? Where is my book you want signed? What you want to ask me boy? ” She said while spitting her latte in my eye.

” My name is Boo Feeder. I am a freelance reporter with tens of thous.., er, tens of followers and we all want to know how Hillary Clinton managed to fix the primaries “.

” Lookit here Feeder, I never said Hillary rigged or fixed the damn election! It was the Russians! You take that down real easy boy and you take it down right. I did not get it on with Hillary! She met me before the debate and I talked to her, that’s mighty damn right. Sure, I handed her the question list. So what, white boy? That is my freaking job! Then that damn Wackoff Leaks got my emails. Now that ain’t right! All I got out of all my work for the Democrat Party was fired and a kiss on the cheek from Hillary Damn Clinton! A peck on the cheek! Like I was expecting a little more, right? Maybe a hug? A kiss on the lips? Maybe cop a feel of my big, ample breasts? A peck on the cheek? Damn! I said right there that That’s It! I’m going to put Joe Boy Biden in her place. That dirty bee-atch! Biden says No! Not in this lifetime! He’s afraid of the Clinton’s, especially that Hillary. He says Donna? You know what happens to people that go against her? They have sudden heart attacks! Weird ass accidents! They die Donna! Shit, he’s right. I know for sure! So I write this book you want signed. I got bank for that from you know who! I take it all back though, right? Hillary didn’t “

The woman sitting across from me has lodged so much mocha latte into my eyes by now that I couldn’t bear to hear any more of her slabbering. ” Miss Brazile. Excuse me ma’am. All that is in your book. What I want to know is this, are you going to support Joe Biden or Bernie Sanders in 2020? “

” Is you out your ever racist mind Feeder? I got my own pick for 2020 and it is Not none of them two losers! No! What we need here is hope and change! What we need here is somebody who has Never been in politics in her whole life. Someone to take on that gold-ass bigot and toss his fat ass out on the sidewalks of New York where he Nevah! shoulda left. No sir! We, I mean I, am going to make us a new president! One who knows blacks have been sitting in the back of the bus too damn long. And women! We need representing! Boy, we, I mean I, am going to make her the next president of the United States! “

With that she pointed to a laminated card on her key ring. In the middle of the lamination, surrounded by hearts and roses was the image of a woman that was further smudged with lipstick kisses. I had an idea who her idol was but had to ask.

” Why that is the next POTUS you poor white man! That there is MO! Oh my word, is she she going to straighten you and every other white-ass honky cracker out like chickens on a string! ” At that she pulled a picture of Hillary Clinton out of her bra, threw it on the floor, jumped out of her chair stepping all over Hillary and spinning around the coffee shop chanting ” GO TO HELL HILLARY! WE, I MEAN I, WANT EM-OH, EM-OH, MO TWO OH!”

The Starbuck’s baristas joined the merriment singing ” MO, MO, Mocha Ole! Mocha Ole! We love our mocha ol”. That’s when Donna Brazile threw her chair at the unfortunate singing duo. She screamed ” What the hell you white people know about mocha brown anything? I don’t care about your stupid coffee. Shit, I got better coffee at the Piggly Damn Wiggly! Mocha Ole, what kind of crazy cracker shit it that? I was talking about the one and only EM OH! And she is going to run this whole damn world like it should be done! M-O, MO, MO TWO OH! “

The chanting and throwing of chairs continued until every table, every window, every person in the little store went crashing to the sidewalk outside. I knew at that instant just who her leader was, who Brazile planned on propping up for the 2020 election and I began to shiver. The only hope for all of us is that there will be full exposure on the rigging investigation and the real Russian story. That the Clinton’s and Obama’s will be exposed and MO will never be president of the United States.

While on vacation in Key Largo, Boo Feeder had an impromptu meeting with Florida congresswoman Frederica Wilson. Both were waiting for a table at Snapper’s when Feeder took advantage of the situation. What follows is his account of the bizarre happenstance.

October 20, 2017: While taking in the spectacular oceanfront views, my eyes were quickly averted to a flashing ten gallon cowboy hat bobbing in my peripheral vision. Oh my God! Is that Frederica Wilson under that hat? Yes! I jumped off the bar stool then accidentally on purpose bumped into her.

” Mrs. Wilson? How honored it is to meet with you! Can I ask you a couple quick questions while we wait for our tables?”

” Who is you? You know my name but I don’t know yours. What you want to axed? Hurry boy! Us rock stars don’t get much time between gigs. Quickly! ” she said while readjusting her rhinestone and lights encrusted hat. Above the rim ‘Rock Star Baby!’ was blinking at the pace of 1970’s disco light.

Finding it difficult to keep from laughing, I bit my lip and got right to the point. “My name is Boo Feeder, ma’am. You say you were with Mrs. Johnson when President Trump called. How long have you been friends with her and did you know her son, La David Johnson who made the ultimate sacrifice while on a mission in Niger?”

“Listen up Bob. I been friends with La Meesha Johnstown since I was principal at Skyward School. Her son was a pupil of mine. I know him like that! Me, Mishu and Davey was close, you know?” She touched the brim of her hat and like that! the message changed to ‘RESIST!’ then continued ” Donald Trumpet, he calls her, right? I’m sitting in the car minding my own business when I heard that cracker say “Mrs. Jackson, I’m calling for your boy who got hisself kilt. You knows that, right? Yep. Down there in Africa he went and got put out of action. Forever! I’m just call…”.

That’s when I had to interrupt her lying at the expense of a fallen hero. “Frederica Wilson, you know none of that is true. The Gold Star mother’s name is Myeshia Johnson, not any of the names you gave her. And, her son was never a pupil in your school that you also, strangely misnamed. It was Skyway Elementary and La David Johnson wasn’t even born when you left to work on the school board. By the way, my name is Boo, not Bob.” I wanted to excoriate her for politicizing the death of a soldier but held my breath. It was clear this woman has a loose grip on reality at best.

Wilson’s hat was now not only flashing ‘Wilson For President 2020!’ but it also had Isaac Hayes’ song ‘Theme From Shaft’ vibrating the hidden speakers in the brim of her over sized, over the top, Stetson.

“Okay Bucky. So what? You happy with yourself picking on a poor black woman? I’m 74, soon to be 75 years old and look at me! My husband can’t even keep his hands off me. And Mashika? She got nothing to do with how that Trumper bossman talks about us poor, black people. Why, I ain’t even got two million dollars yet! You feel me? You’d like to I bet! Maybe I wasn’t Exactly WITH Mrs. Johnston when that white bigot bastard called her but I could have been! Just the day before I handed her that envelope from the greatest, number one president of all time, Barack Obama. He was the first black man child president and in 2020 I’m going to be the first black woman president! Even sooner if everything goes as planned! Imagine that Booker! ME! President Rock Star!”

With that Frederica Wilson wiggled and danced her way to table number one. ‘Shaft’ was blasting, her hat was sparkling and her entourage surrounded her with arms folded. One was giving me the evil eye but I paid no attention. It was going on eight p.m. and I was starvingly awaiting a table that would never come.

A server slipped me a note telling me that due to unmentionable circumstances, I was not going to be getting a table. Ever! Seems that when I reminded Rep. Wilson that her husband passed away nearly thirty years ago thus catching her in yet another fabrication, she passed a message on to the owner just ten seconds after we parted. It read “don’t you seat that white racist pig over there with wire rimmed glasses and a blue shirt made by slaves in Mozambique. Sonofabitches name is Big Fubar and if in I ever see him in here again I tell ALL my peeps not to pay you no never mind. And you knows I got a LOT of people!”

So I’m sitting here eating a chili dog from Tom Thumb thinking about what just occurred. As a clown in a Barnum and Bailey tent, Wilson would have been a star act, maybe even a Rock Star. But, as a member of congress that has the power to alter our lives forever, she is one scary cowgirl!

During an afternoon stroll in the woods near his vacation home in Chappaqua New York, Boo Feeder came upon a figure draped with a black curtain. Fearing for his life and the lives of his family just yards away, Feeder took action to thwart the threat.

” Ah hah! I got you! ” Boo Feeder screamed as he tackled the angel of death to the ground.

” Get off of me you, you, you MAN! ” was heard from inside a black cape that was twisting and turning through a copse of poison ivy. The robe then went flying away to reveal the person, not spirit, inside.

” Hill, Hill, Hillary? Hillary Clinton? What are you doing walking in the woods dressed as the Grim Reaper? By the way, you have poison ivy leaves stuck in your hair “. Feeder said while composing himself to maybe, just maybe tick off a box on his Before-I-Die list and land an interview with the former First Lady. He picked out the poison from Clinton’s hair that was curiously still in perfect shape after the wrestling then asked ” Madam Secretary, would you please give me a few minutes of your time to talk about your book, ‘What Happened’? As a matter of honesty, Feeder then gave up his identity as a freelance reporter.

” Well, well, well. First you accost me then you want to make nice with me? Typical man! ” she said through clenched teeth. ” But, you did get that nasty bush out of my hair so yeah, ask away. This is NOT for public consumption! Whatever we talk about is between me and you only! You got that Beef Eater? “

” It’s Boo Feeder ma’am. ” He corrected. ” Mrs. Clinton you have my word that this is not for everyone, I’m just curious why you wrote that book and why you feel it necessary to lay blame for your loss ” he lied. Of course he would publish his best “get” of his career. If her bevy of lawyers tried to sue him, he would reiterate Hillary’s husband’s infamous retort of ‘What is, is?’.

” You say it was the Russian’s, James Comey and the misogynistic racists on the right that handed defeat to you as a thief in the night. Do you take any responsibility for letting Donald Trump beat you like a tired old punching bag in Gold’s Gym? “

” You stupid, stupid wang dangled human piece of ( censored )! That golden haired slob DID NOT BEAT ME! I won the popular vote Boo Jerko! Three freaking million more people wanted ME to turn the White House into a Pink Palace. You got that Freaker? ” Hillary Clinton said while wrapping herself back into the soiled black rag.

” Those three million voters were all in California. Do you believe that one state should speak for the other forty nine? The Electoral College was written to assure the nation that presidential elections were as fair as possible. Do you believe our American system is unfair? Do you want to eliminate the Electoral College? Really? “. Feeder said with a face contorted with disbelief in what he was asking the person that so wanted to be the most powerful person on the planet.

” Electrician College? What a joke! Those damned wire strippers stole my future! I could have been the ruler of the whole ( censored ) world! ME! It was supposed to be ME! I WON but look where I am and where that orange head bastard is. He’s down there in effing Florida making nicey nice with his dirty-ass-immigrant wife and I’m walking in a forest of ugly-ass trees practicing my taraweeh prayers in a dirty black sheet. Jeeze! I HATE that college that isn’t even a college! ” Mrs. Clinton finally had herself wrapped and was about to flip the rest of the cape over her head when she began flailing her hands to her head and ran away screaming like a Banchee ” POISON IVY! Holy shit! Back Fu(censored)ing bastard. You spread poison ivy all over my beautiful face! MEN! OH Allah, or whoever you are down there, strike that MAN off this planet that I, HILLARY DAMN CLINTON, should be the leader of ! “

Stunned beyond words, Boo Feeder submitted this report with no further content. We asked if he wanted to add any afterthoughts to his impromptu interview. All he could say is ” Nah, man. My hands are covered with calamine lotion and I’m a little high from the Prednisone so, no, but thanks anyway “.

Well out of harm’s way, Boo Feeder met up with Hurricane Harvey in the Kisatchie National Forest in Louisiana. To prepare for this encounter, Feeder met with a descendant of the Kichai tribe, Henry Whispers In The Wind. Henry gave Boo Feeder a crash course in the art of interpreting a hurricane’s swooshes and whirs of the wind into the English language. Whispers In The Wind explained that hurricanes talked in a language all their own but Hurricane Agnes changed all that. Seems that Agnes was looking for her mother, Gladys, who disappeared after she tangled with Cape Hatteras. Agnes was asking anyone in her path about her mother but nobody understood a swish she said. After that, all subsequent hurricanes became well versed to communicate with anyone, anywhere. Henry said that Floyd was the loudest and most vulgar then Katrina came by to apologize for her older brother. “Some apology!” the Kachai under chief laughed out loud with a smirk hidden in a smile. He warned our reporter to be prepared, Harvey was the fiercest package of wet wind he’d ever talked to.

I’m here with what was once Hurricane Harvey here in the Kisatchie Forest, As soon as this pack of horses meanders by, I hope to get a few words in sideways with the storm.

” Tropical Storm Harvey! Thanks for allowing me a moment in your short life to speak with you.” I said while standing in a pile of horse dung.

” It’s Hurricane Harvey to you, poop-for-brains. The way you people prejudge and amass false allegations Really gets my tail in an uproar. I leave my peeps in Africa then you called me Incest! That Really blew me over! I mean, really? My father was Matthew and my mother was Hermine. Totally unrelated! I was feeling fine when visiting the Yucatan people and was ready to go home to my mommy but that word got louder and louder. It felt like a needle in the eye, you lying bastards! That’s when I decided to fuel up for a week of revenge. Sucking all that water from your Gulf of Mexico made me sick! What do you people put in that water? Tasted like burnt oil! That and playing that word “Incest” over and over, around and around in my head turned me into the monster you asked for. Take that Mister Boom Seeder!” he said while horses stood in front of me kicking up their hoofs as if to mock the wind.

” It’s Boo Feeder” I corrected him.” Incest? What are you winding about? Nobody accused you of being the child of your brother and sister or any other disgusting family connection. You were known as Invest 91L. Invest not incest you old windbag! Invest is what meteorologists call a ‘Investigating Area’ for storms coming to life. ALL hurricanes and tropical depressions are an “Invest” before they’re given a name. ‘Invest’ you swarmy black cloud, Not ‘Incest’! ” A wild horse bitch-slapped me with her tail every time I said ‘incest’, not that I blamed her.

In what could be described as a death rattle, the pines and grasses mixed hundreds of dust devils then a dying Harey groaned ” Invest? Invest not incest? Oh holy mother of wind! What have I done! I am So sorr…..”. With that, the late Invest 91L who grew up to be Hurricane Harvey, blew out his last breath and floated out to the meadows.

As I was riding bareback on a wild horse ( not really! ), my cell phone buzzed my butt. On the other end I could barely make out ” Booze? This here is Irma. Henry Whispers In The Wind gave me your number. I am warning you and all your snobby-ass people: You will pay for calling me Depressed!” Screaming even louder ” I AM NOT DEPRESSED! “.

After a long, well deserved vacation, our relentless reporter, Boo Feeder, has come back with a vengeance for the truth. In that respect, Mr. Feeder has submitted this exclusive interview with Robert Lee.

“Hello Mr. Lee. I am grateful for your cooperation to grant this session.”

“Cessation? Boy, I am not in favor of division. Never have been. Division is for sports like baseball, football and such. No sir. Not a fan of cessation. Next question.”

“No sir. We’re not talking about cessation. I was merely saying thank you for this interview. Now, some 152 years since you gave up and cried “Uncle!” to the North, statues and all memorials of you are being removed. Your legacy is that of racism, bigotry and hate. How do you feel about that?”

“Uncle? Uncle, boy! I give up! I done it once, I’ll do it again. Y’all taking down those statues is downright dirty pool, boy. What’s all them pigeons going to do? Drop their loads on the likes of you sonny boy. Buff Eater, that’s what! You take down statues and what’s next? Bird cages? Y’all gone cray cray!”

“Cray cray as in crazy? That’s funny to hear from a man that’s been dead for 147 years! I didn’t know they used that dumb dictum back in your day. What, by the way, do bird cages have to do with racism and discrimination?”

“Dismemberment? What you gonna do, cut off my head? My hands? My dang tongue for God’s sake? You want to destroy history like it never happened why stop with statues? Y’all do know the KKK burnt crosses, right? Why don’t you take them down too? Cray cray, boy! Next thing you know they’re gonna erase the Old Man from history books and Pawn Stars! And you call him a bigot? Why, boy, he wasn’t called The King Of Spades for nothin’! Marble man loved his blackies. Same as I do Buffy. You know I’m married to a black woman, right?”

Flabbergasted, I pulled myself off the floor to finish the fake. “Sir, I was told by the medium, Miss Gypsy Rose, that you are the Robert E. Lee of Virginia fame she brought back in a seance . Obviously you are not him. Who the hell are you?” I asked him with my nose squarely in his face.

“Saying? What sayings you blabbing about? Boy, my name IS Robert Elliott Lee. That was my wife you talked to, Gypsy Rose. She’s a black woman who took in this hard of hearing old bucket of bones. Now if you don’t mind, I’m taking my Oldsmobile ‘Traveler” back to the projects. It’s suppah time boy!”

Gypsy Rose Lee. Oh Gads! How could I have have been duped by that attractive European, not black, woman? As Mr. Lee got in his Cutlass, I received a call from another of Mrs. Lee’s customers, Benjamin Franklin. He tells me that his monument is being removed in Philadelphia. Seems his initials, BF, is offensive to students at Drexel. They are circling Ben screaming BF Bigot Fascist! Bigot Fascist Down To Ashes!” Oh Lord, Robert Lee is right. The world is Cray Cray.

After the public interrogation, the former FBI czar met with the Senate Intelligence Committee members in private to answer questions that he refused to answer in an open setting. Soon afterwards, Comey leaked an audio tape that he secretly had hidden in classic FBI fashion: a 007 style recorder planted in the Windsor knot of his tie. When the top secret testimony was over, James Comey ducked into the mens room to drop the nickel size recorder in the waste bucket for his cohort at the New York Times to dig out of the trash later. Unknowing to Comey, our own reporter, Boo Feeder, was using the restroom for its intended purpose and saw what the fired FBI director let go in the garbage. It is from that tape that we are able to tell our dear readers what went on behind closed doors.

The edited version goes like this:

Richard Burr: Thank you Mr. Comey for meeting with us.

James Comey: Like I had a choice ( chuckles )

Susan Collins: Mr. Comey, you admitted, much to my surprise, that you leaked a memo to the New York Times about your meeting with President Trump but you didn’t leak the fact that the FBI was not investigating the president for any ties with Russia. Or did you and it didn’t get out?

Comey: No Senator Collins, I did not leak anything to the Times. My best buddy did that. He and I have a relationship that is very private so we can share

Mark Warner: Whoa Jimmy! No need to get yourself in another jackpot!

Collins: Mr. Warner! I am not done! Please do not interrupt me when I

Kamala Harris: That’s enough out your lobster lips you old bag! I have some hair dye in my purse you might want to use. There’s a strand of gray peeking through your pine tree hair Suzy honey. Hi Jimbo! You’re looking fine today! How about we do lunch then you can do me!

Comey: No Kam, I can’t do that, sorry. I have to see a man about a boat ( the sound of swallowing water? is loud and clear ). After that my banker asked to see me about a recent deposit.

Marco Rubio: Your banker? Recent deposit? Were you paid to leak that memo and who paid you Mr. Commy?

Comey: It’s Coh-me Mr. Rubik, not Commie. I have served America all my adult life and resent your insinuation that I am a communist. But, if I were a commie, that would not be illegal. As you know there are plenty of commies in Washington DC but I am not one of them. I demand you take that back!

Rubio: Or what? You’ll take your crayons and go

Dianne Feinstein: ( yelling ) Stop it children! Jimmy, you and I go back a long way and I think it’s time we end this nonsense before you say something you’ll regret later. Miss Harris? I’m free for lunch and would love to be with ( pause ) go with you. My treat sweetie! ( a muffled female voice is heard saying “Gotchya baby” but we aren’t certain it was Kamana Harris’ voice )

John Cornyn: Okay, we all have somewhere to go so let’s get on with why we are here. Mr. Comey you say now that the FBI did not investigate Russian interference in our election but didn’t leak that to your buddy or anyone else. But, you did find it necessary to leak a memo about a conversation with Donald Trump who was only hoping that a man who served his country with valor and heroism from public disgrace. Now you infer that there are communists in DC who may be influencing our

Joe Manchin: Don’t answer that Jimmy! ( screaming ) You don’t deserve to be treated like this. You are our friend and noble comrade! You

Burr: HA! Now we know who to put a target on! You and all the other anti-Americans in public office and in the mass media. You are all going down!

Harris and Feinstein: ( in unison ) Going down?!

Harris ( in sing-song ): Glory be! Let’s get outa here Di baby!

And with that, the meeting ended. Comey and most of the senate committee hustled their way out of the building. Kamala Harris and Dianne Feinstein were seen hand in hand running past the horde of photogs into one car then sped away.

Disclaimer:

This is Fake News! It is written to put a humorous spin on our ever depressing news of the days. None of it is true and not meant to be construed as such!